Tropic of Death (37 page)

There is no virtue in a weakness of the will when civilized men are confronted with the violence of savages. The British Empire spans the entire globe, with a much greater extent of territory to rule than even the Romans controlled, and therefore the threat is proportionately greater. Just as the Roman administrators did not hesitate to exert inexorable force to prevail over the bloodthirsty Celts of ancient Britain, likewise the British must prevail over the waves of barbarism that lap at the borders of the empire, whether it be in Africa or Asia or Australia. The war against savagery is neglected at our peril.

Rita closed the book with a pessimistic thud. Brodie’s argument was simplistic and fanatical. She wanted to dismiss it as the idiosyncratic raving of a colonial maniac. But that was too easy.

What was more disturbing was the implication of a universal mind-set - a ‘them and us’ interpretation of global dynamics, a reactionary vindication of killing in the so-called defence of western civilisation. It was a gloomy notion and the parallels leapt out at her - the war against barbarians, the war against savagery, the war on terror.

It seemed that such strategies eroded the very values they were supposed to defend, something Rita had to deal with in her own investigation. The problem was an inherent contradiction and the Romans had put a name to it:
exitus acta probat
- the end justifies the means. Men in charge of the research base had embraced and applied it with the inevitable result. Death.

warned Rita.

Freddy and Stonefish observed her indolently. They were sitting under a fig tree outside the arched gate of the courtyard, smoking.

The pungent smell of dope drifted around them.

‘You think he’ll try something?’ asked Stonefish.

‘If he wants Freddy badly enough, yes,’ she replied. ‘He doesn’t give a damn about anyone’s rights.’ She was about to follow Brother Ignatius down a steep path to the car park. ‘A police officer will soon be posted by the causeway, but I suggest you keep watch here tonight.’

‘Good idea. We’ve got an uninterrupted view.’

‘As long as you don’t get stoned.’

‘It’s just a bit of blow,’ said Freddy. ‘To clear the cobwebs, calm the nerves.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘You didn’t mention
me
to your fellow cops, by any chance?’

asked Stonefish.

‘No. But keep your wits about you, and don’t go into Whitley again.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Panopticon.’

‘I’ve seen the diagrams,’ said Stonefish. ‘State of the art and all that. But if I keep a low profile -‘

‘I’ve seen it in action,’ Rita interrupted. ‘It’s no ordinary system.

Think about it - satellites, scanners, electromagnetic emitters. It’s total surveillance.’

‘You mean it can look inside buildings?’

‘Every room in every building,’ she answered. ‘It has the capacity to watch and listen to anyone, anywhere within the sector.’

‘No wonder the spooks love it. Must be their wet dream come true. But there’s always the human element to screw up.’

‘Don’t be too sure. It’s run by a form of machine intelligence, and the system controller happens to be a leading expert in the field - Audrey Zillman.’

‘That’s the bitch who fried my decks, and all my bank codes in the process,’ put in Freddy. ‘And I didn’t notice anything human about
her
.’

‘I’ve got a feeling she’s the smartest person at the base,’ said Rita.

‘And the most dangerous?’ asked Stonefish.

‘I don’t know. But I can tell you this, from personal experience: if she wants to find you, she can.’ Rita gave him a probing look.

‘The
Rheingold
disk. How do you know it’s secure?’

‘I passed it on to someone I trust.’

‘You gave it to Ice?’ exclaimed Freddy. ‘You dipstick!’

Stonefish nodded irritably. ‘Yes, Freddy. Thanks, Freddy.’

‘Are you talking about Marilyn Eisler?’ asked Rita.

‘The one and only.’

‘Why?’

‘I asked her to put it in my private drop-box.’

‘In Whitley?’

‘No. Rockhampton.’

‘Who retrieves it?’

‘A courier service - but not the usual sort. Totally discreet, very expensive, known only to me. I’ve just given instructions on where to deliver it.’

‘And you won’t tell me who you’re sending it to?’

‘No.’

‘Do you realise how much danger you’ve put that woman in?’ said Rita. ‘If she downloads from the disk she could end up dead.’

‘But Billy’s got nothing against her.’

‘You know very well it’s not just Bowers we’re dealing with. His involvement doesn’t explain everything. I’m convinced someone at the base has had a hand in every murder - and the disk is the link. Where do I find this woman?’

‘She’s got an apartment at the marina,’ said Freddy. ‘The penthouse.’

‘Ice won’t download from it,’ insisted Stonefish.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I told her not to open it and she promised.’

‘Great,’ said Rita. ‘Just like Pandora.’

The beam of the headlights wobbled over the surface of the water as Brother Ignatius carefully guided the old kombi along the partially submerged causeway. When it reached shore he changed gears with a clunk, the engine growling as the van lumbered up the incline through low dunes and beach grass. There was little traffic as they turned onto the coast road, Rita glancing around without spotting any sign of Billy’s men.

‘You look worried,’ said Ignatius.

She gave a grunt. ‘A feature of the job.’

‘I admire your fortitude.’

‘Is that what you call it?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ he answered seriously. ‘After your remark about facing the ungodly I prayed to Saint Michael the Archangel, the patron saint of police. I asked him to protect you.’

Rita smiled. ‘Thank you. That’s got to be the best call for backup I’ve ever had.’

‘And I can see how your sense of humour serves a purpose.’

‘Cops tend to need it, graveyard humour. It’s a defence mechanism - helps you cope.’

He nodded. ‘I realise I’ve got the soft option in the battle against evil. I survey the world, the flesh and the Devil from the luxury of seclusion, while you’re down in the trenches, locked in hand-to-hand combat.’

‘I don’t believe anyone has a soft option. According to the Blessed Prophet, Mohammed, the great Holy War is within oneself.

Psychologically, I have no argument with that.’

Ignatius gave a quiet laugh, changing gears and pumping the accelerator to get the van up to a decent speed. They were on a broad sweep of open road with a nature reserve stretching along the foreshore and cane fields inland. The stars dusted the sky with a spectral light.

‘You even quote Islam at me,’ he said, amused. ‘I don’t think anyone has teased me the way you do.’

‘A woman’s prerogative.’

‘Not a subject I’m familiar with.’

‘You pay a high price for your seclusion,’ observed Rita. ‘On the other hand, you don’t have women’s angst inflicted on you.’

‘Or women’s charms.’

‘But you’ve been tempted?’

‘I’m a monk, not a saint.’ He glanced at her slyly. ‘And while we’re back on the topic of forbidden fruit, I’m impressed you can quote Genesis at me, chapter and verse.’

‘Even though my interpretation is profane.’

‘You obviously don’t take the story of Eden literally.’

‘Do you?’

Ignatius flinched as he answered, ‘I can read it symbolically.’

‘I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be read.’

‘Meaning?’

‘The Garden of Eden is a psychological place,’ she replied.

‘You’ll have to explain that.’

‘Human beings - symbolised by Adam and Eve - are either
inside
the Garden or
outside
it,’ said Rita. ‘So the story’s telling us that our psyche has two fundamental states, the natural and the alienated.’

‘But you’re talking about the preface to the entire Bible,’

objected Ignatius. ‘Surely you admit there’s a spiritual dimension to the fate of Adam and Eve.’

‘
Our
fate, all
humanity
,’ she corrected him. ‘We’re all Adam and Eve. And yes, there’s a spiritual equivalent to what I’m saying.

Nature
equals
oneness with God.
Alienation
equals
otherness
.’

‘So let’s see,’ he responded. ‘As well as ruling out any divine, factual or geographic basis, you deny Eden has a moral message?’

‘Funny you should mention it. Geographically there’s a villa called Eden up on The Ridgeway. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been thinking about it.’

‘You evaded the question,’ he pointed out.

‘Okay. The expulsion from Eden is a metaphor: biologically, socially, intellectually we have evolved away from the natural towards the alienated.’

‘And physically?’

‘We still inhabit the Garden. As a species we never left it because we’re part of nature - although in our minds we’re separated from it.’

‘And the role of God the Father?’

‘Symbolic,’ she said firmly. ‘I can’t accept any theological concept of God.’

‘I can see where you’re heading,’ he said. ‘For
separation from
the Creator
, in the traditional meaning, read
separation from nature
in yours. Different, if pagan.’

‘And
naturally
our great yearning is to return, to regain that sense of paradise - or oneness with nature - that’s been lost.’

‘That’s where the role of religion comes in?’

‘Or anything else that works for you,’ she said. ‘Psychologically you’ve made it back to the Garden when you feel at one with your here and now.’

‘So now it’s my turn to ask: do you?’

‘No, I’m as screwed up as anyone else - that gnawing sense of estrangement in my head.’ She sighed. ‘Though for a moment there, on your island, looking at the ocean, the rainforest, the sunset

- I saw Eden in all its beauty. Pity the feeling doesn’t last.’

‘I’m sure you’re familiar with the writings of Joseph Campbell,’

said Ignatius.

‘Of course - perhaps the greatest authority on mythic symbolism.’

‘What you just described - your experience on the island -

reminds me of his phrase for what we’re all seeking -
the rapture
of being alive.
‘

‘You’re in good form tonight,’ said Rita. ‘Years ago, while struggling with what someone recently called my “religious ambivalence”
,
I actually crafted some blank verse on a similar theme. I gave it the title “Ekstasis”
.
‘

‘Ah, from the Greek, meaning
to stand outside oneself.
Do you still remember it? Can you recite it?’

‘Let’s see … yes,’ she said, recalling the words. ‘A bit of un-poetic and agnostic soul-searching:

‘Out of space and time:

This planet, here and now,

A life-giving sphere

Spinning through the alien void;

A habitat of natural beauty

To be experienced with wonder

Between the cataclysms

Of past and future;

A moment of rapture

In the face of annihilation;

And beyond all endings,

A premonition of peace

As the mind perceives

The stillness of eternity.
‘

Ignatius nodded slowly. ‘That’s neither un-poetic nor agnostic,’

he said quietly. ‘In fact it echoes the cave of Elijah.’

They drove on in silence, both distracted by their own thoughts.

As the van climbed over the crest of a bluff the lights of the town came into view. Their ways would soon be parting.

‘Forgive me if this sounds intrusive,’ said Ignatius, breaking the silence, ‘but I get the impression you suffered an intense cruelty when you were young.’

‘Where do you get that from?’ asked Rita.

‘The way you’ve rejected the faith of your childhood and your ongoing battle against it. Your antagonism towards God.’

‘My rejection of the Father. Nice bit of psychoanalysis, Brother Ignatius. You missed a career as a shrink.’

‘I apologise if …’

‘No need. You’re bang on the money.’ Rita gave a bitter laugh.

‘My father walked out when I was seven. The emotional trauma has coloured my life ever since - one of the reasons I’m both a police detective and a psychologist. You see, I’ve applied my own critique to myself. Conclusion? My pursuit of justice is prompted by childhood betrayal, profiling is an attempt to make sense of the despicable, and my driven personality is a backlash against my irrational guilt over losing my father’s love. And you’ve just added my rejection of God as a response to paternal abandonment. If I’m objective about it, I have to accept it’s all accurate and undoable.’

‘I don’t wish to presume but …’

‘Presume away.’

‘It’s clearly a matter of principle for you to be unyielding towards those who hurt others. But you seem to be even harder on yourself.’

‘You’re not the first to make that appraisal,’ she said.

‘And while you dismiss “theological concepts of God”
,
it must be clear to you that the creative source of the cosmos is beyond definition, even to scientists.’

‘Some of whom think it’s more like a great thought than a great machine,’ she agreed. ‘The universe as intelligence expressing itself. What’s your point?’

‘You’re not just at war with the ungodly,’ he answered. ‘You’re in conflict with God.’

‘Interesting diagnosis.’ Rita’s sarcasm was slipping through.

‘What remedy do you recommend?’

‘Forgive yourself,’ he said flatly. ‘And make peace with your God.’

‘
My
God?’

‘Exactly. Him, Her or It - whatever concept of the eternal presence resonates in your soul.’ He blew out a sigh. ‘Now there’s heresy for you.’

They both laughed. After such a heavy conversation it was something of a relief.

As they drove into Whitley she directed him to where her car was parked in the street behind Mangrove Joe’s. Ignatius pulled up beside it, engine still running. Rita opened the door and got out.